Page 71 of Hunter's Hidden Camera
When we turn around, we see the two security guards dragging a masked man away from a woman. The man is wearing a shirt and tie and no pants. The woman is wearing a miniskirt, but she is topless. Her perky breasts point straight in front of her.
The man yells, “Let me go!”
“You agreed to the rules!” screams the first security guard.
The second guard asserts, “The first rule is Consent!”
The woman says, “You kissed me without asking, you asshole!”
“Well, you shouldn’t have your tits hanging out like that!”
The first guard says, “You did not ask for consent!”
The second guard pulls out a police nightstick that was hanging from the back of his pants. He raises it in the air and slams it against the back of the man’s knees. He buckles and screams in pain.
The first guard balls a huge fist and wallops the man square in the face.
Oscar and I both flinch.
Oscar says, “Oh, shit!”
Fatima says to him, “Don’t worry. That happens every once in a while. That’s why you have to follow the rules.”
The guards pull the man, who is now unconscious, his dick shriveled, out of the room. Two new security guards enter and continue to monitor what’s going on.
The fog thins out some more. We see, in the middle of the room, mounds of blankets and pillows covering the floor. Ontop of the blankets and pillows are dozens of people—again, in various states of undress and at various levels of intimacy, from light petting to screaming sex.
Fatima and Twyla make their way to the middle of the mound and lie down. They start making out and rubbing their bodies against each other. They turn to another couple, a naked man and woman who are having sex missionary-style.
Fatima yells something at them. The man and woman nod and roll towards Fatima and Twyla. The couple hungrily crawls on top of the two girls.
Oscar shakes his head in disbelief. “Yo, this might be too intense for me.”
The alcohol continues to work on my body, and I feel my level of physical coordination beginning to drop. At this point, I’m racking my brain. I’m trying to remember why I’m here. I have a mission, an objective, a goal. But this whole night is becoming a blur. Damn, why do I have to be such a lightweight when it comes to alcohol? Why did I drink in the first place? Where am I?
I grab onto Oscar’s shoulder to hold myself up.
Oscar says, “You okay, bro?”
“Just a little dizzy.”
“It was just one drink. You should be feeling good, not dizzy.”
“It’s been so long since I drank last, so it’s really having an effect on me.”
A girl in her early twenties with long brown hair, extremely fit, walks up to us. She’s wearing a short, tight, white dress andhigh red heels. Pearls hang around her neck. A mask covers her angular, symmetrical face. I see her blue eyes, the color of the deep sea, through the slits.
Oscar checks her out carefully and can’t help but lick his lips.
“Good evening, boys,” she says, in a heavy Russian accent. “Do you two want Olympic skiing?”
Whatever my mission is tonight, apparently Oscar has forgotten all about it too—because instead of getting us back on track, he places all of his attention on this stranger standing before us.
He enthusiastically nods at her. “Girl, I want whatever it is you have.”
“Oscar,” I say, “we’re supposed to be doing something else.”
But it’s too late. Oscar is already following the woman towards the hallway, towards the dark offices where anything goes.
